


An Extended Bout of Cabin Fever

by supersalad



Category: Muppet Treasure Island (1996)
Genre: 18th Century, Drinking, Kissing, M/M, Vague Feelings of Going Insane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:47:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25234147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supersalad/pseuds/supersalad
Summary: Even now that they're on the island, Beaker is quite sure he's still afflicted with cabin fever. It would explain a lot.
Relationships: Beaker/Dr. Bunsen Honeydew
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	An Extended Bout of Cabin Fever

Beaker learned very quickly that he wasn't suited for tropical climates. He hadn't stopped sweating since they'd arrived on the island, and the bugs seemed to have a particular appetite for him over anyone else. (And Bunsen was no help - "oh, Beakie, they're only biting you because you're so sweet. Look at this big one, isn't it fascinating?")

If he were on the beach right now, at least there might be a breeze to cut through the humidity. But down in the hull of the ship, where he and Bunsen were working on post-battle repairs, the air was so stagnant it made Beaker want to crawl out of his own skin. And that was an awfully familiar feeling.

He let out a noise that was half-meep, half-moan. Bunsen looked up from the papers spread out in front of him; so far, his only contributions had been poring over the ship's blueprints and occasionally waving his hand fan in Beaker's direction whenever he complained about the heat.

"Dr. Livesey," Beaker began hesitantly, tugging at his collar, "is it possible to have some kind of... extended bout of cabin fever? Even if you're ashore?"

He instantly regretted asking. Because now, Bunsen was lifting up his glasses and studying Beaker like some sort of specimen. It was the kind of analytical look that, when directed at Beaker, could make sweat prickle on the back of his neck even on the chilliest of days back home.

"You look perfectly fine to me, Beaker," he concluded. "It's understandable if you're a little restless, but don't you worry. We'll have some thrilling new experiments to dive into once we finish these repairs."

Beaker might've looked perfectly fine to Bunsen, but he didn't feel fine, not in the least. He started to climb the girders of the hull, but not before muttering, just loud enough for Bunsen to hear, "Maybe all your experiments are why I've lost my mind in the first place."

"Really, now. A few little scrapes with science aren't going to send you off your rocker." Bunsen turned his fan towards himself. "This is the Age of Reason, Beakie, dear. A time when science can open your mind to the world around you and lead you to illuminating new discoveries. Quite the opposite of losing one's mind, I'd say. Besides, I never do anything that you can't handle."

Beaker just stared. "You made me get struck by lightning!"

"Yes, and you were perfectly fine, weren't you?"

Beaker sighed down at him and kept climbing. "Oh, go powder your wig."

Sometimes, he was sure that Bunsen overestimated him.

_"Hold on tight, Beakie," Bunsen instructed him, as if he wasn't already squeezing the rope so hard his knuckles were white. He was shivering uncontrollably, partly from the rain and partly out of fear, so Bunsen leaned in and pressed a kiss against his cheek. "For luck."_

_At that, Beaker stopped shivering - he was frozen in place instead. So Bunsen started yanking on the other end of the rope._

_"Now we'll really see what electricity can do, my dear!" Bunsen called up to him, holding onto his wig as the wind picked up. "We'll give that Ben Franklin a run for his money. Who needs a kite when you have an assistant?"_

_Beaker couldn't tell if Bunsen was talking to him or to himself, but Beaker stopped being able to hear him after a few more good tugs of the rope, and before he knew it, he'd been hoisted up to the top of the main mast. He clung on for dear life. The air had an eerie buzz to it, a sense of unreality, like the sky itself was alive all around him. It would've been beautiful if it wasn't so terrifying._

_Then came the blistering flash of white light. It was direct hit to the buckles of his shoes, blowing them clean off. He was on fire from the inside out, everything in him scalding, as though his body had turned to soup inside his clothes. The last thing he remembered, as he tumbled from the mast, was trying to yell out for Bunsen but only hearing thunder._

"You know, I never did figure out why your eyes were glowing when you came to," Bunsen mused from somewhere below Beaker. "What a remarkable phenomenon that was, though. Almost mesmerizing."

Bunsen's fan was much less effective now that the only visible part of Beaker was his legs, which dangled out of the hole in the ceiling as he assessed the damage. Beaker cursed himself for only bringing wool stockings on this trip; he hadn't thought about how ridiculously itchy they'd be in this heat.

As he crawled further along, a realization struck him. Everyone was out on the beach, except for the two of them. He couldn't even hear any rats scampering in the walls. They were alone for the first time since the battle - and since that foolish, impulsive, entirely improper thing he'd done. The thing he was trying desperately not to think about.

He cast his eyes around the tiny storage space he'd managed to squeeze into, then got Bunsen's attention with a triumphant meep. "Dr. Livesey - look what I found!"

Beaker tried to wriggle himself into a position where he could show Bunsen, but instead, the wood panels underneath him creaked and then snapped in half. He fell headfirst from the ceiling, and on his way down, Bunsen caught the bottle he'd been holding. He lifted his glasses at it.

"Long John Silver's brandy," Beaker said as he stood up, shaking off sawdust and plucking out splinters. "Though I suppose it's ours now, isn't it?"

"Captain Smollett said it was forbidden," Bunsen tutted, but Beaker saw the mischievous glint in his glasses and knew he'd need very little convincing.

"He only said it was forbidden for the voyage," Beaker pointed out, and that seemed to be justification enough to satisfy Bunsen.

"Well, it looks like someone's been drinking it anyway. I was wondering how the rats were making all those cocktails." Bunsen returned to where he'd been sitting on the floor with their blueprints, leaning back and crossing his ankles, lounging like he was already out on the beach. He patted the space beside him. "Come, Beakie. You've more than earned a break."

Beaker went over and settled down next to him. He stretched against the wall, wiping the frilled cuff of his shirt across his forehead, feeling the weight of his clothes sticking to him. He knew the brandy would only worsen the effects of the heat, but at this point, he'd take anything that might soothe his frayed nerves.

Bunsen examined the bottle. "This would've come in handy when I was inventing that Seasickness Tonic."

"Don't remind me," Beaker muttered.

_Word of their stunt with the lightning had spread throughout the crew. Crowds had started to form with every new experiment they conducted, and before long, their experiments had become full-blown demonstrations._

_Bunsen reveled in having an audience; usually it was just Squire Trelawney and Young Squire Trelawney. And Mr. Bimbo, if you counted him. And they tended to be less than impressed by offerings like firework-launching tricorne hats or musical anemometers that changed tempo depending on the wind speed._

_"You may have noticed that my poor, feeble assistant here is feeling a wee bit under the weather. The waters have been rather choppy lately, right, Beakie?"_

_He glanced down at Beaker, who was curled up on the deck. His knees were shaking too badly to stand, and his pink skin had a grayish pallor to it._

_"But this Seasickness Tonic will have you turned around in no time. I'll stake my wig on it. Try a dose, Beaker."_

_Beaker gulped the tonic down and tried to stand back up._

_"Oh, Mr. Silver, dear, I hope you don't mind - I used the leftover fish brine in the kitchen to help dilute the tonic."_

_A smile flashed in the crowd. "Not at all, Doctor."_

_Beaker heaved and leaned over the side of the ship again._

"I'm not cut out for life on the sea. Even if I did have all my mental faculties," Beaker sighed, shifting around miserably on the floor next to Bunsen. Before Bunsen could insist again that he was perfectly fine, Beaker went on. "Being at the whim of every wave and gust of wind. Trying to sleep in a cot so small my legs hang off the edge. Nothing to eat but hardtack. Don't you miss that bakery around the corner from Trelawney's? And the scent of the flowers when we'd go for our walks?"

"We'll be back soon enough, my dear." Bunsen reached over and gave Beaker's ponytail a gentle tug.

That made Beaker jump even more than usual. So many times back home, Bunsen would be standing by his side at their drafting table, guiding him in taking a measurement, when Beaker would feel that teasing little pull at the nape of his neck.

But the cozy ease of their workspace seemed almost a lifetime away from here, down in the breathless and stifling hull of the ship. Everything felt so much more intense now. Even once they did go back, Beaker feared that the ship had changed him too much, his brain too permanently addled by cabin fever, for all of Bunsen's everyday toying with him to ever feel quite as everyday as it used to.

Meanwhile, Bunsen was still busy contemplating the brandy before drinking it. "What a shame that we can't have a proper toast with this. If I could, I'd raise a glass to my intrepid assistant." Instead, he raised the bottle in Beaker's direction, then took a sip. "Despite your reservations, Beakie, I really was delighted that you agreed to come on this trip with me. You're always my partner in adventure."

"I certainly do get my fill of adventure with you, wherever that may be," Beaker couldn't help but agree. It wasn't hard when he was routinely fired out of cannons or catapulted off of Squire Trelawney's roof.

Truthfully, the notion of not going with Bunsen hadn't even occurred to Beaker. He'd follow him anywhere. Besides, he reasoned to himself, Bunsen needed someone around to rein him in. He knew how Bunsen got when left to his own devices. Which was always, given that they worked for a perpetually grouse-hunting squire and his halfwit son.

"And, of course, we'd have to toast to science, too," Bunsen added, "and all of the breakthroughs we've had thanks to this journey. I must say, I'm especially excited about our Pirate Detector."

_"As you can all see, my assistant Beaker here is obviously not a pirate. He couldn't lift a treasure chest if he tried, he burns at the mere hint of sunlight, and when handling a sword, he's more of a danger to himself than to others."_

_Beaker's exasperated stare into the crowd got some laughs._

_"So when used on Beaker, this Pirate Detector will not go off. Therefore demonstrating that it works perfectly at detecting pirates."_

_Bunsen turned the crank, and immediately, the detector emitted a shrill whistling sound. "Oh dear - that wasn't supposed to happen. Now why would it be going off around innocent little Beakie?"_

_As Bunsen tinkered with it, a crew member raised his hand. "Say this thing does detect a pirate. What happens to the pirate?"_

_"Well, nothing yet. But we've been experimenting with ways to incapacitate any nefarious characters, haven't we, Beakie?"_

_Beaker nodded, massaging the rope burns on his wrist._

"It did work after all," Beaker remembered. "And with a much wider range than we thought."

"That was a wonderful idea you gave me," Bunsen said, passing the brandy over to him. "Just think of what a rousing success this could be for us! What seafaring vessel couldn't use a Pirate Detector?"

Beaker paused before taking the bottle from his hand. "I gave you the idea?"

"Yes, of course. After all those nights you couldn't sleep. I knew there had to be something I could do to help."

Too many nights for Beaker to count, he'd woken up sweat-drenched from nightmares about pirate attacks, bolting upright in his cot next to Bunsen's in the stuffy officers' quarters. But Bunsen would wake with him and take him up to the deck for some fresh air. On clear nights, Bunsen would bring his astrolabe, and together they'd pinpoint their location as they looked at the stars.

Without those nights, Beaker wouldn't have had a clue where he was. He'd be lost otherwise, in every sense. There was nothing more daunting than scanning the horizon, no land as far as the eye could see, nowhere more solid to stand than the wooden planks of a ship that they themselves had designed. The only thing keeping them afloat had come, in part, from his own mind, a mind he didn't even trust anymore.

But he trusted Bunsen. At the same time, he knew that if Bunsen was all he had to anchor him to sanity, well, that could be a problem in itself.

"You did help," was all Beaker could say. He wanted to tell Bunsen just how much, but anything he tried to meep got caught in his throat.

Still, that was enough to make Bunsen smile, and Beaker averted his eyes before he ended up staring too long at his mouth. It only made him think of that reckless thing he'd done, the thing that made him want to pitch himself straight into the ocean from embarrassment.

He'd read plenty about the sea before, and how it changed those who dared to sail it. How it messed with their heads and made them do things they would never think of doing on land. But he didn't think they were talking about this.

The memory of it made him take a bigger gulp of brandy than he probably should've. So much for the Age of Reason, he thought.

_They'd been tasked with guarding the ship, but Beaker's sword felt heavy in his hand. He'd never thought he might actually have to use it._

_So far, though, the night was still. Seeing how Beaker was anxiously pacing the deck, Bunsen decided this would be the perfect time to help him brush up on his swordsmanship. They practiced in the moonlight of the deck, with their Pirate Detector sitting idly by - though Beaker was finding it hard to take Bunsen seriously, with the way he kept egging him on with cries of "en garde, Beakiepoo!"_

_The sudden sound of the Pirate Detector going off, a shrill whistle in the otherwise quiet night, shook Beaker to his core. Like a nightmare coming true, he then heard footsteps in the kitchen below. He started to hyperventilate._

_He turned to take one last good look at Bunsen. But he wasn't content with that alone._

_Adrenaline was coursing through him with nowhere to go. Somewhere in his panic, there was only one thing he could think to do. He grabbed Bunsen and kissed him on the cheek. "For luck."_

_Then, knowing he might never get another chance, he pressed a kiss against Bunsen's mouth. It was quick, but it was with all his might._

_"For... more luck," he offered weakly._

_It was a good thing he hadn't hesitated, because not a moment later, the hatch leading up to the deck was flung open. Before Beaker even had a chance to raise his sword, a calloused hand closed around his wrist._

_"It's a shame we'll have to kill you. You two were pretty entertaining."_

"Oh, Beakie, the whole time we were captured, I was so afraid I was going to lose you. I couldn't stand the thought of it."

Beaker shook his head. "One swig of brandy and you're already getting sappy." He tried to laugh, but a loud hiccup came out instead. He ducked into his collar, and Bunsen snickered.

Bunsen curled up closer, and Beaker wished he could pretend it was just the brandy or the weather making his blood feel so hot. But neither of those explanations could account for the nervous thrill that flooded through him, rising in him like a tide, as Bunsen's leg brushed up against his and stayed there.

He willed his face out of his collar, only for Bunsen to start snickering again. The brandy seemed to be making him exceptionally giggly; once he started snickering, he couldn't stop.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing. Just the way your cheeks are going from pink to red."

"Yeah, well... you have wig powder on shoulder." Beaker started to brush it off, then paused. His fingers trembled as he withdrew his hand. In the silence that fell between them, Beaker was sure, somehow, that Bunsen was thinking about the kiss too. He swallowed hard and murmured, "You can take that blasted thing off. It's just you and me down here."

"It is, isn't it?" Bunsen took off his wig and set it aside. Then he turned back to Beaker, intently, with a slight tilt of his head. "You can let your hair down, too, you know."

He reached over and slowly undid the ribbon that held Beaker's hair back, combing his fingers through the tangles, drawing Beaker's face closer. He stroked Beaker's cheek with his thumb. Beaker let out the smallest of squeaks just before their lips met.

Bunsen's hand in his hair held him steady as they kissed. The heat was unbearable now, but in the best way; Bunsen's mouth was so warm as it opened against his, and he could feel the flush in his cheeks spreading across his entire face.

Unlike their last kiss, they had all the time in the world. But Beaker had to catch his breath at some point, and when he did, it was like coming up from being underwater.

"Dr. Livesey-" he gasped, half-exclamation and half-question. He could feel his cheeks burning as Bunsen held his face in both hands. If he'd been teetering on the line between sanity and insanity, he'd certainly crossed it now, though he didn't know to which side.

Bunsen moved a hand to Beaker's forehead. There was that analytical look again, and then it was broken by a smile. "No, I don't think it's cabin fever that you have. Though you do seem very feverish indeed."

"Is there a remedy?" Beaker asked.

Bunsen leaned in, snickering in a way that was softer than Beaker had ever heard before. "Right now, I can only think of ways to make it worse."

" _Oh_." Beaker's reply came out muffled, caught against the kisses that Bunsen was trailing along the curve of his mouth. "I'm... perfectly fine with that."

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Check out the [gorgeous artwork](https://superfantastick.tumblr.com/post/623550027546116096/i-read-a-really-amazing-fanfic-by-superfantastick) that the incredibly talented FeltyCartoons drew based on this fic!


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